


Lunchtime Confessionals

by TypewriterLove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Badass League of Normal Human Kids who Don't Need No Supernatural Powers, Denial of Feelings, Isaac and Erica are totally secret twins, Lydia Stiles BROTP, M/M, Namely he doesn't believe he has any, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Sloppy makeouts in closets, Stiles has issues with self-worth, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypewriterLove/pseuds/TypewriterLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Essentially, this story contains a broom closet, an unopened bottle of vodka, an aphrodisiac bomb set to go off in under 5 minutes, some sandwiches and bags of chips because, of-freaking-course, it's lunch time and last but certainly not least, one incredibly pissed Derek Hale sitting in the back corner.</p><p>Why does it include all of that? Mostly because Stiles' friends are all psychotic werewolves who have somehow gotten it into their heads that Derek-freaking-Hale likes <em>Stiles.</em> </p><p>They're obviously just messing with Stiles- right?</p><p>(inspired solely by a comment Saucery made on tumblr. the idea smashed through my laptop screen, wormed it's way into my head and took control of my body. Please god someone help get it out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunchtime Confessionals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



> "I DESPERATELY WANT THIS FIC, WHERE STILES JUST REFUSES TO BELIEVE THAT DEREK HAS FEELINGS FOR HIM, EVEN WHEN EVERYONE ELSE IN THE PACK INSISTS ON IT, AND EVEN WHEN DEREK MAKES IT REALLY OBVIOUS. IN THE END, DEREK HAS TO PIN HIM TO A RANDOM SURFACE AND KISS THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF HIM IN ORDER TO PROVE THAT YES, HE DOES LOVE STILES." - [Saucery](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/post/46896203224/in-my-head-these-are-all-stiless-reactions-to)
> 
> Ask and ye shall receive u w u)/<3

**1\. Erica**

Throughout Stile Stilinski's time in Beacon Hills High School, he has heard a lot of ridiculous lines echo through it's hallowed halls. Including, yet not limited to;

"It's like the Hulk got it on with Godzilla and gave birth to a hundred little assholes with good hair."

"I'm still not sure what 'coitus' means."

"Well crap. Bella Swan is a banshee."

"Is there any reason why we're trying to kill the pixies who like Joss Whedon?"

"Dude, you can't bring bloody chains to prom!"

"Please tell me I'm not the only one who sees the sentient foam fingers."

 

And many, many, _many_ more. More so than any 16 year old who values his mental health should have to deal with, really.

And yet, they kept coming. 

However, "Derek Hale wants to bone you." is definitely a brand new, never-before-heard one. 

Yeah. _Definitely_ new. 

 

"Derek Hale wants to bone you." was all Erica said in lieu of, oh Stiles doesn't know, an actually sane and socially  acceptable greeting, as she slid into the seat across from him and sat her (enormous, Jesus where did she put it all?) lunch down on the table. For a moment all Stiles could do was stare at her in alarmed shock, whipping through numerous explanations in his head. Was this a cloned or brainwashed Erica? Stiles checked her eyes. Erica raised her brows in a silent "What the hell is wrong with you". (Was there a werewolvian seminar on that? Communicating utter disdain solely with eyebrows?) No, probably not brainwashed. Was it April Fools? Stiles checked his phone. No, certainly not. Was she just messing with him yet again, because all wolves were certifiably insane and wanted to psychology screw with Stiles like adorable kittens wanted to devour catnip? 

 

Definitely yes. 

 

Stiles sighed and poked at his meatloaf. "Sure thing, Catwoman. Also, Boyd is auditioning for American Idol, Scott was just accepted to Harvard and Jackson has been elected for a Nobel Peace Prize." 

 

"Well, Boyd is a surprisingly gorgeous singer," Erica mused, before sobering and woah-kay suddenly she was a heat-seeking missile because she was staring him dead in the eyes like she could read every emotion there. Houston, we are screwed. 

 

She blinked. 

 

". . .you really _don't_ know, do you?". Stiles sighed - what was it with werewolves and intentionally vague one-liners? - before continuing. "What am I to know? That you guys get a kick out of messing with me? 'Cause yeah, you're definitely not keeping _that_ secret under wraps." Annnnd Missile-Erica was back again. Awesome. After a moment, intimidatingly-red lips pursed in annoyance. "Stiles, know that I love you dearly in a brotherly, non-incestous kinda way, but dear _God_ are you stupid sometimes. Scott wasn't kidding, you really are thick." Stiles spluttered for a second - Scott was calling him stupid? _Scott?_ \- before Erica just groaned and shook her head, curls fanning in a wave behind her. "Just- ugh. Just talk to Derek before I'm forced to act like a 12 year old and lock you into the broom closet with booze and some aphrodisiacs.". 

 

Then, scooping up her lunch and leveling Stiles with a parting glare, she strutted off. 

 

Stiles stared blankly at her retreating form for a while, before yelling 

" _What the hell were you like at 12?_ "

 

**2\. Isaac**

"Stiles, you know I wouldn't say this unless it was really important, but you're kind of acting like a giant douche."

 

Stiles flinched as Isaac sat down across from him, staring in half-guilty, half-confused shock- because if _Isaac_ was upset enough to call him a douche, he must've really screwed something up. Like, "steal a puppy from an orphan and then shoot it in front of said orphan", kind of screwed-up. Looking at Isaac's sheepishly scornful expression, Stiles grabbed his pack of Chips Ahoy and scooted them across the table. "I'm so, _so_ sorry dude, but Scott is probably to blame somehow because I'm usually not stupid enough to do something to make you upset. So eat the cookies, tell me what I did wrong, and depending on how bad the offense was I'll either apologize or buy you 50 more packs of cookies." He promised, trying to look as innocently repentant as possible. 

 

Isaac just raised a brow (were Isaac and Erica twins? Secret werewolf twins? Which sounded like something out of a shitty supernatural soap-opera- but still. There was definitely something there.) before opening the bag and downing a handful of artificially delicious little crumbs of chocolate-chip wannabes. After a long, anxious moment of Isaac chewing and looking unimpressed and Stiles looking nervous and trying to seem innocent, Isaac swallowed loudly and declared,

 

"I get it if you don't like Derek - okay, I don't, because Derek's great and attractive so you should probably at least give him a chance - but even if you don't want to give him a chance, you should at least acknowledge his feelings. Just be polite and give him the closure, okay?" 

 

Stiles gaped at him before scrubbing a palm down his face. "No. Nononono," he muttered behind his hand, each denial accompanied with a shake of his head "-don't tell me Erica's recruited you too? What's the point behind this? Seriously? I mean what are you trying to do,  sexually frustrate the only male human in the pack in an attempt to see him explode? Isaac man, I thought I could count on you not to screw with my head." he whined, looking pleadingly up at the blond from under his hunched shoulders. 

 

Isaac just stared at him before smiling, like when you're babysitting your cousin and they try to win hide and seek by closing their eyes, because "If I can't see me, you can't see me!". 

 

"You really are oblivious, aren't you?" he asked bemusedly, before shrugging and rising from his seat. 

 

"You've got a week before Erica buys some aphrodisiacs on eBay." he said off-handedly, as if this was a totally normal substitute for "Bye Stiles, see you later", as he melded back into the sea of students.

 

Stiles sighed before thunking his head on the formica counter top.

"Damn kid ate all my cookies."

 

**3\. Lydia**

"And here I thought I wasn't the only person with some actual IQ points in this 'pack'." Lydia sighed, falling gracefully into the seat across from him which would undoubtedly go down in history as the only time someone has not flailed, tripped or grinded into a high school lunch table. 

 

"Hello to you too, Lyds." Stiles sighed as he unscrewed his water bottle. Opening conversations with insults to his intelligence were frequent with Lydia, once Stiles realized that she and Jackson were kind of a Thing-with-a-capital-T and he, Lydia and Allison all started bonding over having some actual smarts as opposed to wolfy power. Stiles liked to think of them as the Badass League of Normal Human Kids who Don't Need No Supernatural Powers- but astonishingly enough, when he tried to get t-shirts declaring them as such, Lydia threatened to hack his porn folder and forward it to every teacher in school. 

 

And Stiles could _really_ do without Mr. Harris knowing what kind of men he prefers to watch in his pornos, thanks. 

 

Anyways- team bonding. Happens a lot. Especially with insults. So this Wednesday afternoon could've been a totally normal and un-memorable conversation with Lydia, were it not for her next sentence.

 

"Oh don't you dare humor me, Stiles. Everyone knows you've got the hots for Derek-" at this, he nearly choked on his water "- and everyone also knows that Derek has the hots for _you_. Stop tip-toeing around one another, the entire pack is starting to get headaches from the UST." she stated matter of factly, running her flawless nails across the taut skin of the apple she'd grabbed from his tray. 

 

Trying to snort in the middle of taking a sip of water is, unsurprisingly, a difficult task. Yet Stiles performed it with admirable talent and, swallowing as he twisted the cap back on, Stiles continued to give Lydia an exasperated look. "Lydia, I get that you probably like to screw with me more than our resident Romulus and Femme!Remus do, but this is really getting old. How did Erica even convince you to join their plot? And don't say you're not in with them," he warned, shaking his water bottle emphatically as Lydia opened her glossed lips. "Lyds, we both know you're gorgeous, but denial doesn't look good on _anyone_."

 

Lydia stared at him for a long moment, her eyes dissecting and assessing him in the span of microseconds, before something in her spine straightened. 

 

"Then you should really get it off of your face." she simpered, before biting into her apple and flouncing away.  

 

**4\. Scott**

"Stiles, stop being a dick and go make out with Derek already." was Scott's utterly-quality opening argument. As he plopped down across the table (and wow, was Stiles getting some major deja vu or _what_ ), the poor, plastic tabletop shook and dismantled the Great Tower of Fries that Stiles had been hard at work for over the past 5 minutes. "I was wondering when you'd try to come and make your case," Stiles groaned, before popping some of his building supplies into his mouth and giving Scott a scornful glare. "And seriously dude? Calling me thick to the rest of the pack? Not cool." He declared, chomping out his words and fries at the same time. 

 

Scott just gave him his serious, disappointed face - the one that he probably thought made him look cool and mature, but really just reminded Stiles of the time when Scott was 6 and accidentally sat on his Gogurt tube at lunch and then went around school with a pink blob on the back of his shorts with no clue as to why everyone was laughing at him. So really- Scott's Serious Attack!! was super ineffective. 

 

"No. Scott, just no. No puppy eyes or disappointed best friend face is going to suddenly make this okay. Where the hell did you even come up with the idea of me Derek. . . liking," Stiles internally winced as he tripped over the word " _me?_ ". 

 

And really, that was the whole root of the issue. Sure, the concept of Derek having a crush on someone was funny and a good enough joke. But a campaign designed to try and convince Stiles that that someone was _Stiles_? Haha, yeah, no. Stiles was the utter antitheses to all things Derek Hale. Where Derek was attractively rugged and more ripped than some of the Sheriff's old socks, Stiles was gangly, speckled with moles and had been, on more than one occasion, compared to a literal twig. Where Derek was gruff and under spoken, Stiles was loud, emotive and _could not shut up_.  

But Stiles didn't voice any of these opinions to Scott, because 1. Dwelling on such reasons depressed Stiles and 2. made him a feel a little too much like one big Mean Girls reference, although 3. Stiles really wouldn't be surprised if Derek _did_ have his hair insured because 4. everything about Derek Hale was quality and worth and perfection and other-positive-synonyms while 5. Stiles was. . . well. Stiles. Which Stiles didn't explain because 6. as best friends for well over a decade, Scott should be more than able to hear all of his doubts, self-deprecation and numbered lists of logic in the vocal tone of his final " _me?_ "

 

And Scott - bless his goofy ass - did not disappoint. 

 

His face fell and he gave a quiet "oh." 

 

Stiles just snorted and slid his lunch tray between them, offering some of his fries as a peace offering.

 

"You got that right, buddy." He sighed.

 

**5\. Derek**

Apparently, instead of ending his Get-Stiles-and-Derek-together-by-annoying-the-crap-out-of-Stiles campaign, Scott simply changed it to a Fix-Stiles'-self-worth-issues-by-getting-Stiles-and-Derek-together campaign.

Which, for reasons still unknown, included a broom closet, an unopened bottle of vodka, an aphrodisiac bomb set to go off in under 5 minutes, some sandwiches and bags of chips because, of-freaking-course, it was lunch time and last but certainly not least, one incredibly pissed Derek Hale sitting in the back corner.

 

So much for Stiles' Friday.

 

They'd been locked in this janitor's closet on the 2nd floor of the high school for about three minutes now, and Stiles was no closer to 1. getting them out of the closet (and oh god his life is just one long sexuality joke isn't it?), 2. figuring out how to disarm Lydia's sex-bomb (and it was definitely Lydia's, if the Chanel perfume clinging to the bomb's casing was anything to go by) or 3. getting Derek to talk to him outside of one-sentence grunts. 

 

"Maybe if we screwed up our hair and panted a little like we'd made out, they'd unlock the door?"

 

"They're _werewolves_. They're listening to everything we say."

 

"How did they even get you here?"

 

"Scott texted. I followed his scent trail and they pushed me in the closet."

Derek at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish. Stiles sighed and drifted away from the door, falling down in a mess of limbs besides Derek before assembling them into something that looked vaguely like bent knees with his elbows resting atop them. As he wondered over this scenarario and how, precisely, he was going to get out of this closet alive, Stiles tilted his head back against the wall. (the quiet whimper that accompanied the gesture must've been from the water pipes. Which didn't really instill a sense of confidence in his school, but it was the only possible explanation)

 

"Aren't you the big-bad Alpha?" Stiles theorized, looking at Derek from the corner of his eye. "Can't you just growl and knock the door down?" Stiles asked, lowering his head back and making weak clawing motions. 

 

Derek simply stared at him, before letting out a growling huff as he rose to his feet and began pacing the room. "No, I can't knock the door down, because my goddamned betas would just lock me in some other room with you, or get me drunk and drop me off at your house, or kidnap one of us and release some more aphrodisiacs because apparently, they've gotten it into their delusional, disobedient heads that you. . . _like_ me." Derek stuttered over the word, somehow looking both murderous and mortified at the same time (murdefied?) and it was so childish a move, so similar to the exact same way Stiles had tripped over the word yesterday, that Stiles was honestly tempted to coo and pet him. 

 

But still- woah. Wait. 

 

-similar to the _exact same way_ Stiles had tripped over the word yesterday.

 

Maybe. . .?

No.

But. . .?

 

Swallowing heavily, Stiles decided "fuck it" and bit the bullet. 

 

"Do _you_ like me?"

 

Derek froze mid-step, his eyes wide and flashing just the slightest bit- not with the red of an Alpha's anger, but with something akin to the fear of a hormonal teenager. He opened his mouth for a moment but. 

Nothing came out.

 

Stiles could feel his face heat _fuck_ why did he have to ruin this Derek could probably hear his heart beating like he was sprinting from an entire pack of cheetah-wolf hybrids and see the unspoken admission in his eyes and Stiles was so, so tempted to melt into the cold concrete floors of the closet but right now all he could do was what he did best. 

 

Make an awkward situation even more awkward by rambling his ass off. 

 

"Haha, just kidding of course, I mean c'mon like _you_ would like _me_?" he babbled, making long, waving hand gestures towards the still-frozen Derek and himself as if to encompass all of the inconsistencies between their worth. "That's like buying million dollar gold tire rims for a second hand mini van and wow did I really just compare you to tire rims? That is a definite problem. You should be compared to much better things. Remind me to make a list of better comparisons because you do not deserve that kind of negativity in your life. But mind you, gold tire rims are kind of badass, so it's not necessarily nega-"

 

Suddenly, Stiles was falling upwards (take _that_ gravity) before impacting against the back of closet. Since Stiles' mouth was so unstoppable a power that Energizer has tried to sue him a few couple times, he suffered from a long moment of confused concern as to why he was having such trouble speaking. He had an irrational fear that his father had been right when he was a kid - if he talked too much, his lips _would_ fall off - before he realized that he wasn't suffering from an absence of lips. 

He was suffering from an abundance of them. 

 

Derek's lips were a hard, chapped weight pressing as deeply into Stiles' mouth as possible. And woah okay suddenly there are tongues involved, that's nice, definitely nice, Stiles was so _not_ complaining as Derek traced the worry-bites along Stiles' bottom lip and licked into his mouth. Everything was hot wet pressure, sweet and urgent and an unspoken agreement that this was the most important thing they had ever done in their lives and if they didn't keep sucking face they would probably die. 

 

Okay so that wasn't necessarily the _precise_ agreement, but it's definitely what Stiles felt like at the time. 

 

Because Derek tasted like ash, like the cool shade of a forest, like all the wonderful things in the world had come together one day and decided to compress themselves into a being and dub it Derek Hale. And it was utterly addictive and incredible and Stiles was probably hallucinating right now but fuck if he cared because Derek's hands were running smooth lines down his waist, curling around his chest, stroking along his neck, and Stiles wasn't sure which of them were moaning but it didn't really matter because Stiles' hands were fisted in that glorious, insured-for-a-hundred-dollars hair,  and clearly Stiles had more important things to do than wonder over which of them was making certain noises.

 

Eventually, horrifically, the need for oxygen decided to make itself known. And though being kissed by Derek Hale was definitely going under number-freaking-1 on Stiles' "List of Mind-Meltingly Awesome Sensations", it wasn't awesome enough to completely distract from the burning of Stiles' lungs. Oh so reluctantly, Stiles pulled back and their lips broke with a wet gasp. Stiles did not, however, release his grip on Derek's hair because fuck if he was letting Hale run away after _that_. 

However, leaving seemed to be the last thing on Derek's mind, as his eyes flickered open and he rested their foreheads together, his hands rubbing circles into Stiles' hipbones. 

 

"Hey Stiles," he muttered and holy _fuck_ Derek sounded wrecked. Stiles was pretty sure he was at significant medical risk right now. That voice could most definitely be the cause of a heart attack. 

But screw the infamous Stilinski heart health, he had a kiss-wrecked Derek talking to him. 

 

Stiles cleared his throat and croaked out "Yeah?" because apparently, a side effect of having the living daylights kissed out of you is a dry throat. 

 

Derek gave a tiny smile (holy _shit_ ) as he looked Stiles in the eye. 

 

"I like you."

 

Stiles stared him dead in the eye for a few seconds and must've seen something there, some shining piece of legitimacy, because in less time than he could blink it was his turn to attack Derek's lips and absolutely not let them go because no matter what he might've thought before, _this_ was the most important thing he would ever do. The "me too" was an unspoken agreement that would, in time, be voiced.

Over and over again.

At various decibels.

But for now, they were mostly silent, the closet filled only with the quiet huffs of breaths and slick-slide of tongues.

 

 

Except for the largely-ignored chorus of "FINALLY!" that echoed out from behind the door.

Yeah. They definitely ignored that.


End file.
